


Alcoholic

by wifidelis



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Fluff and Angst, Husk is Worse, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Survivor Guilt, Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), yeehaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifidelis/pseuds/wifidelis
Summary: [Human AU] Husk is an alcoholic. Alastor is bad at dealing with anything on an emotional level.So when Husker comes home drunk off his ass and tries to sex Alastor up, Alastor finally realizes he has to get Husk to deal with his problems. And his own.
Relationships: Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 230





	Alcoholic

**Author's Note:**

> wanna know what started this? check out this: https://twitter.com/karumkin/status/1217226069582811136?s=20
> 
> and all will become clear
> 
> yeehaw, have more radiohusk angst this time with a human au. also, i use edward as husk's human name SO here we go i can't think of anything else please enjoy my homies

Oh, there were signs. Signs Alastor wasn’t exactly sure what to do with at first. And then the mood swings started. The little fibs. Disappearances late at night, or coming home deep into the early hours of the morning. Defensiveness Alastor couldn’t exactly place until he’d actually seen it first hand. It was odd. Not unusual, but odd. Odd enough to concern him.

It was around 9pm last Wednesday. Husker had gone out to a faculty dinner with some of his fellow professors, and Alastor had gotten home late from… his own hobbies, so he wasn’t able to attend. Husk hadn’t seemed to mind much (which was _odd_ ), but Al stayed up because he wanted to see his partner before he went to bed.

But then 11pm rolled around with no call, and Al was getting worried, pissed off, and tired. Getting up at 3am to prepare for his morning radio show was going to _murder_ him at this point, which was utterly ironic considering his… hobbies.

So he set up camp on the couch, and being the light sleeper that he was, hoped he would wake up when Husk opened the front door of their apartment. But god fucking christ be damned if it was the door waking Alastor up, because what really dragged him out of his light and restless slumber was Husker sliding hands up his sweatshirt and planting bright red hickeys around the base of his neck.

“ _Qu'est-ce que tu fous-”_ Alastor didn’t even finish the sentence because he was all but throwing his partner onto the ground and the next thing Alastor knew, Husker was cursing against the hardwood with his arm behind his back and the other pinned above his head. The smaller man’s breathing was labored, something akin to the Kill Bill alarms going off in his head when Husker stopped moving and then-

“So yer gonna fuck me…? Alright, Al…”

Alastor released the hold and jumped at least two feet backwards, hot disgust bubbling underneath his skin. Husker grunted and flopped onto his back, honey gold eyes peering in the halflight curiously.

That was about when Alastor finally registered the reek of alcohol despite the more pressing urges of annoyance _how violated he felt_ and anger at being woken up _about the fact Husker KNEW Al was_. Al’s face, almost as read as his crewneck, flushed into a tomato as the real animosity erupted and he lost his temper.

“ _Est-ce que tu plaisantes?_ ” Al wasn’t hiding the venom dripping knives in how low his voice dropped. If anyone needed any proof of him being a serial killer, they need only tape this conversation. “You stumble in here smelling like whiskey and vodka trying to violate-”

Alastor just shook his head, trembling, arms tightening around his small frame. The marks on his collarbone seemed to burn like brands. Sizzling. “How drunk are you, Edward?”

Husker scoffed, rolling his eyes. “‘M not, asshole. Jesus. Fuckin’- fuckin’ christ-”

“Then stand up,” Alastor snapped. Fuck, he was seething. The nails of his left hand were digging in so hard that he felt the uncontrollable urge to claw his own skin open.

“‘f ya say sooo…” Husker grabbed the edge of the coffee table and hauled himself upwards into a vaguely upright position, but upon planting his feet, fell right back on his ass. He cursed, much too loudly, and when Husker looked up whatever alcohol coursing through his system evaporated from the look of silent murderous intent in Alastor’s eyes.

“W-wait, Allie-”

Al turned on his heel, stalking silently to their bedroom. Al’s bedroom tonight, because upon walking in, he slammed the door shut behind him and snapped the lock shut. There was a clamor as Husker tried to follow him, calling his name like a lost puppy before it clicked under tankers of booze that Alastor was not coming out any time soon.

Alastor ripped back his covers, about to flop down in a hot ball of anger before feeling something drip down his arm. God fucking- how the hell did he manage to cut himself open through a thick layer of cotton-

He stalked into the bathroom, slapping the light on as his sweatshirt was hurled unceremoniously onto the tile floor, rifling through the medicine cabinet with a feverish passion as he ripped open a large band aid with his teeth. He smacked the little cabinet shut and twisted his arm up in the mirror for a better view of the quickly bruising tricep as thick viscous scarlet trailed lazily down when he froze.

His collarbone.

_disgusting disgusting violated violated filthy filthy_

It felt like it was burning.

He felt the overwhelming urge to retch.

And retch he did, blood dripping down his arm and stomach heaving after. Alastor wiped his mouth as the toilet flushed, returning to the sink to slap the bandaid over the crescent moon shaped imprints on his tricep.

One more look at the bruises on his neck and collarbone, and he quietly placed bandaids over that, too.

* * *

Alastor was home before Husker, as usual. The apartment was clean when he set down his work bag on the kitchen table, sharp gaze sweeping over the area with an analytical eye. Finding nothing out of the ordinary besides the feeling of still being pissed off, Al began making his customary cup of coffee to keep him awake until 9 o’clock… until he heard the front door open.

His skin crawled when he heard the rustling of Husker hanging his coat on the hooks, dropping his keys into the bowl where Al’s own signaled his presence. Not a moment later, his partner stepped into the kitchen quietly, setting his bag down next to Al’s on the table, the soft thump of papers following. Exams to be graded, perhaps.

“How was your day?” Husk’s voice was carefree. It pissed Alastor off.

So he said nothing.

He could practically feel Husker’s anxiety spike. Al maintained his cold shoulder and poured his coffee into his mug, quickly adding creamer and stirring it in. The radio host turned and simply walked past Husker, fully intending to retreat to his office when Husker grabbed his free wrist and nearly made Al jump out of his skin.

Husker dropped his wrist quickly, flinching.

“I… thought we were past the whole… me not touching you thing,” Husker’s voice hitched, sounding vaguely frightened. Alastor smiled, sipping his coffee. Good.

He just kept walking to his office. Husker watched him for a second before-

“Are you pissed at me or something?”

Al turned, head cocked, eyes twinkling like knives. Even with his coffee raised to his lips, Al’s smile sent chills down Husk’s spine. Al took another sip and disappeared into his office, slamming the door shut behind him. A sharp snap of the lock, and Alastor had sent a message.

Oh, he was _livid_.

Al emerged around 6 for dinner simply because he had to eat otherwise the impending migraine would rival a nail gun going through his eye, having changed into a tee shirt and joggers. He heard Husk’s desk chair swivel when Al sauntered by his door, a soft creak alerting him that Husk was following him into the kitchen.

Al was rifling through the fridge when Husker started again.

“Alastor, I can’t fix shit if you don’t tell me-”

Alastor pulled out a tupperware container of chicken noodle soup, closing the fridge door with his foot. He went to grab a bowl when Husker placed himself between Al in the cabinets, eyebrows knitted in _confusion concern worry fear anxiety anxiety_ annoyance, arms crossed over a broad chest. Alastor just shoved the entire glass container into the microwave beside Husker, hopping up on the counter while scrolling through his phone as it warmed up.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Al, what the fu- what the fuck is wrong with your neck?”

Alastor opened Twitter instead of responding. NBC certainly had more interesting things to say.

Husker tried to move closer, but Al stuck a leg out between them. Husker growled.

“Did someone fucking touch you-”

He didn’t remember.

Al’s eyes flashed, jolting up to stare Husker deadass in the eye. Husker flinched. The microwave beeped, giving Al a free pass to escape with his soup when Husker moved directly in front of it, scowling.

“Al, who the fuck touched you-”

“You did.”

The expression of bafflement and confusion was apparent enough that it nearly knocked Husker off his feet, allowing Alastor to shove him out of his way and collect his soup with a dish towel trivet. Fetching a spoon, he was ready to retreat again when-

“Please tell me I didn’t… I…”

Alastor gave Husker a bored, uninterested glance before seeing the actual expression Husker was trying to hide. He was seeing ghosts. Husker was rigid standing next to him, staring at his hands. His eyes were haunted, hands shaking. Husker was looking between Alastor’s neck and his hands in horror when Alastor clicked his tongue, setting the soup down. Without a word, Alastor ripped off the bandaid, exposing mottled bruises of a sickly maroon color that would match perfectly with the assault of last night.

Husker’s knees went weak as he slid down the cabinets, hiding his face in his hands. It vaguely occurred to Al that Husker might’ve thought he tried to choke him, but no. It was far worse in Alastor’s eyes. Alastor was ready to rip into him like he was performing a vivisection... until he saw the dead look in Husker’s eyes. Dead, lifeless, unprocessing, frozen in time _like when Husker would wake up from nightmares, grab Al out of his sleep, hold him like his sanity depended on it_

“I’m sorry-” there was no emotion in it.

Alastor’s cold shoulder melted somewhat instantly.

He crouched down next to Husker, tugging hands off of Husker’s eyes. It wasn’t an easy process, dealing with this.

“You came home drunk and tried to have sex with me,” Alastor’s voice was firm, though a bit of warmth was creeping back through the poison. “And did this.”

Husker looked disgusted with himself, eyes locked onto the bruises painting Alastor’s olive skin a different hue of purple and blue. “I’m sorry-”

“Stop-” Alastor tried to swallow down the venom that kept trying to keep bubble up. “Stop apologizing. You’re an alcoholic, Edward. That’s what I want to hear you say. You keep telling me it’s under control? Is it really? Do you have it under control when you forget a key facet of our relationship? Do you when you-”

“Shut the fuck up, Alastor!” Husk shouted, shoving the shorter man away. Alastor’s head smacked back against the island, a low growl escaping his throat when brown eyes peeled open, almost looking like they were gleaming red. There was a brief moment when Alastor thought Husk would see the light _after possibly almost giving him a concussion_ , but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Husk was ranting even before Al ripped off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You have no fucking idea what the hell it’s like to remember the shit-”

“Oh, how would I?” Alastor snapped right back, gritting his teeth. “You refuse to talk about it.”

“Why the fuck would I want to talk about how many fucking people I watched _die,_ most of which I fucking killed-”

Husk’s mouth snapped shut when Alastor’s eyes narrowed, the perfect little telltale sign that the fucking twink was ready to start ripping him apart. His pupils looked like knives as he stared Husker down, pinpointing the tiniest fucking rip in Husker’s composure to rip the story out like he was going for the jugular.

“Edward, none of that changes the fact you abuse alcohol like your life relies on it.”

“That’s because it fucking does, dipshit. You of all people should know it’s easier to smother it than face it.”

Alastor scoffed, ignoring the fact Husker was trying to unearth his own childhood trauma. “Coward.”

“Don’t fucking start-”

“Substance abuse is a matter of cowardice,” Alastor was smiling and that was dangerous. “And right now, that’s what I’m looking at.”

“You’re not going to piss me off enough to get mushy with you about my past at war, Alastor,” Husk spat. “Nice try.”

“I could give a shit about you blowing up children, I want to hear you say you’re an alcoholic and I will pry that confession from your cold dead hands.”

Husker flinched back when Alastor abruptly inserted himself in Husker’s personal space, giving him a dark smile that all but showed Husker that side Alastor seldom let slip. Husk gulped, knowing damn well that Alastor wasn’t going to let it go. He was like a dog when it came to this, and this was the one thing Alastor knew Husker hated. Alastor could cut him open like a fish and spill his guts out on the deck for Alastor to examine at length. But Husker couldn’t touch Alastor, not even come close to it when the shield of alcoholism stood between him and the radio host leering at him.

“Stop acting like you fucking care-”

“Oh, believe it or not, I care _deeply_ , Edward,” Alastor laughed, falling back against the island. “I care _tremendously_. Do you know why?”

“Because you can’t admit you’re ever wrong about anything-”

“ _Because you are one of the only people I genuinely care about and I refuse to watch you drink your life away while I stand here, helpless, watching you look more like a corpse each and every single damn day_.”

Husker stiffened at that when the intensity buried in Al’s gaze finally erupted. Oh, yeah, the infamous temper of Alastor Roux. Hard as it was to poke at, once it was out, it consumed everything in its path. Alastor was tired of watching his partner come home every day with darker than usual shadows under his eyes, waking up to Husk sprinting to cradle alcohol after a nightmare instead of him, and especially fucking tired of the lying. Husker knew better than to lie to the kingpin of liars.

And even Husker knew what hid under Alastor’s facade.

“Edward Alexander Husker, the person who essentially tried to rape me- yes, Edward, _rape me_ because that’s what it felt like- is not the same person who wakes up at 3 am with me to make me coffee. It’s not the same person who learned French solely to communicate with my mother. It’s not the… Actually, no, it is the same person. No, it’s the same fucking person under the influence of booze and depression and hell knows what else. But it’s a person I don’t recognize, and _it’s not the man I begrudgingly fell in love with_.”

Husker was knocked silent at that. Al stared him dead in the eye, face slightly flushed pink because he hated admitting that because yes, he adored the ground Husker walked on. He loved that little shit more than anything. No, he didn’t say it. But Husker knew.

Husker knew because the next words out of his mouth were what Al needed him to hear coming out of his own damn mouth.

“... I’m an alcoholic.”

It was like watching a glacier crumble when Al’s enraged expression relaxed into one that was capable of showing any amount of affection for Husker. Alastor tilted his head to the side as Husker pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, trying to ignore the fact that tears were leaking out of his eyes. He sniffed once before letting out a snarl of a sigh.

“What do you want me to do, Al?”

“Stop crying,” Alastor said almost immediately because, yes, it made him uncomfortable. Husker managed some kind of laugh at that, removing his hands from his eyes to give Al a teary eyed smirk of a smile. But it vanished as soon as it came, melting into a blank expression that Al knew only as a 100 yard stare. He hated it.

“Edward.” Husker snapped back to reality, focusing back on Alastor.

“What do you actually want me to do?”

“Stop crying and help me get rid of all the alcohol in this apartment, including the bottles I know you’ve hidden.”

“Okay.”

“Go to AA meetings.”

  
“Okay.”

There was silence for a moment before Husker could look at Al again. The radio host had fished off his soup from the counter and was eating it quietly whilst watching him. Husker just shook his head, looking exhausted.

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“If weird is the worst thing I could do to you, so be it,” Alastor mumbled around a spoonful of soup, the little glimmer in his eyes causing Husk to crack a smile. The professor fished a spoon out from the drawer, and Al put the container between them.

They sat there in silence, eating soup out of the glass bowl.

“... Have you drank today?”

Husker paused, but nodded his head. Al’s shoulders stiffened before relaxing. The smaller man shook his head slightly, sighing through his nose as he put his glasses back over his nose. The disappointment was clear to see, but the anger was melted and gone.

“... Al?”

Alastor gaze flicked up. Husker pushed the now empty bowl out of the way and reached out, letting Al choose whether or not he got pulled into an embrace he wouldn’t escape from quickly, if ever. Al submitted to it, letting Husker rest his chin on Al’s head, tight embrace trapping Al against him.

“I never… I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Husker buried his face in Al’s hair. Alastor let him.

He could feel Husker looking at the hickeys. “... It’s not alright, but I forgive you.”

Husker nodded. “... Do you wanna clean house?”

“... Do you want to let me go?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“... Then we’ll do it in a second. Together.”

Husker tapped his shoulder, easing up on his hug a little bit. Alastor leaned away, looking up at him as Husker intertwined their fingers, frowning. Al didn’t like that so he did the one thing he knew would cure it. He leaned up and pulled Husker’s face down to his, placing a rare kiss on his partner’s chapped lips. Husker’s hands bunched and trembled around the fabric of Al’s t-shirt when Al tilted his head, letting Husker pull him in deeper. It was soft, kind, and desperate. Much like Husker, whose body was shaking when Al broke off the kiss, pressing another to Husker’s forehead.

When they parted to look at each other, Husker was crying. Al wiped them away quickly, causing Husker’s sideways smile to crack through. Both of their faces were flushed pink, Al’s going up to his ears and down his neck because Husker was looking at him with that look like Alastor was the only fucking thing that ever mattered in the history of the universe with that stupid crooked smile as slow tears cut paths down his cheeks into the stubble of his five o’clock shadow. It was disgustingly, tooth rottingly sweet and if you had ever asked Alastor if anyone would ever look at him like that in his life besides his mother, he would’ve said no five years ago. But now Husker did. Every day from the moment he woke up to the moments where Al was forcing him to admit to his alcoholism. 

“ _Ich liebe Dich. Ti amo. Я тебя люблю. Te amo. Wǒ ài nǐ. Aishiteru.”_

[I love you x6]

Alastor smiled. “Showoff.” 

Husker flicked his forehead. “Say it back, asshole.”

“ _Je t’aime aussi, connard_ ,” Alastor stuck his tongue out. “Come on. Let’s get this over with so we can watch Cutthroat Kitchen.”

[I love you, too, shithead.]

Husker laughed, wiping what tears remained out of his eyes. “Whatever you say, Al.”

Alastor hopped up, giving Husker a hand to drag the taller man to his feet. After a moment of hesitation, Alastor stepped closer, burying his face in Husker’s collarbone as he wrapped lanky arms around his neck. Husker sighed through his nose and wrapped his arms around Al’s waist with a lazy smirk.

“This isn’t getting things over with, Al.”

“Shut up.”

“This is the most affectionate you’ve been in months.”

“Fine, I’ll never hug you again,” Alastor snapped, leering as he tried to unwrap him from Husker’s body, but Husk grabbed him and brought him back, kissing the side of Alastor’s head. Alastor huffed.

“... _Tu es ma personne préférée. ... Tu le sais_?” 

[You’re my favorite person… You know that?]

Husker nodded. “ _Oui, je sais mon cher._ ”

[Yes, I know my dear.]

“... _Tu ne peux pas me quitter._ ”

[You can’t leave me.]

“ _Je ne suis pas._ ”

[I’m not.]

Alastor didn’t realize he was shaking until Husker shushed him, running fingers through his hair. He also didn’t realize he was crying until he had to smother down a sob by clapping fingers over his mouth, eyes screwed tight when Husker pressed another kiss against his head.

“You’re allowed to cry, Al.”

“ _C-c’est dur._ ”

[It’s hard.]

“What are you scared of?”

It was so soft and earnest that Al practically threw his glasses on the counter behind Husker to avoid splattering them with another strain of waterworks.

_Losing you, you dying, you leaving, being alone without you, how much I care about you, not being able to control how I feel anymore, losing you to something I can’t control-_

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, too. Let me see you, yeah?”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Alastor snapped through his teeth.

“How am I supposed to make you not cry if I can’t see you?”

“I shouldn’t be crying in the first place.”

“Oh fucking well, come here.”

Alastor pulled away from the spot of Husker’s shirt he’d soaked and closed his eyes as Husker swiped away tears. “See? Now we’re even.”

Alastor started peeling away from Husker like a cat that didn’t want to be pet while Husker resigned himself to understand that was the limit of Alastor’s affection for the month, possibly the year. “Can we please dispose of your addiction now?”

Husker nodded, following Alastor out of the kitchen. “For Alton Brown?”

Alastor whirled around, still teary eyed but obviously trying to hide it by wiping his eyes. “ _Always_ for Alton Brown.”

“You’re fucking weird.”

Alastor stuck his tongue out. “What did I tell you earlier? If weird is the worst I can do to you, so be it.”

Husker smirked as Alastor marched off to the liquor cabinet. He was sure the cleaning out process was going to kill him, but if it was for Al? Oh well. He could grin and bear it.

… Maybe they could keep a bottle of Courvoisier around to keep Al happy. Probably locked up in a safe somewhere, but hey.

Maybe he didn’t need booze if he had this little shit in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully this wasn't ooc i still struggle with writing alastor sometimes despite literally everything i've ever written being alastor-centric hahahahahfuck also also might write something for the depression side of husker because it's implied but not dealt with i'm a sucker for this ship i just wanted to allude to a happy ending but nothing ever ends happy for these two
> 
> *jazz hands*


End file.
